


Unwell

by shiawasena_neko



Category: Benny & Joon (1993), Edward Scissorhands (1990), Pirates of the Caribbean (Movies), Secret Window (2004), Sleepy Hollow (1999), Sweeney Todd (2007), What's Eating Gilbert Grape (1993)
Genre: Coughing, Crying, Cuddles, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Flu, Grief, Hugs, Hurt/Comfort, Hypothermia, Mourning, Shivering, Sickfic, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-14
Updated: 2020-12-19
Packaged: 2021-03-09 17:40:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27550159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shiawasena_neko/pseuds/shiawasena_neko
Summary: A collection of hurt/comfort one-shots, with each chapter featuring a different Johnny Depp character.
Comments: 6
Kudos: 21





	1. Edward has the flu

Even though Edward looked fine as she tucked him in that evening, Peg had a feeling that something was off. 

Maybe it was a mother’s intuition, but there was a nagging thought in the back of her mind that Edward was unwell.

Not wanting to make him nervous, she gently pressed her hand to his forehead before kissing him goodnight, trying her best to check for a fever, but he felt as cool as usual. When he smiled at her, she tried to push her fears away. Edward was fine. He was acting normally, and he didn’t have a fever. Maybe she was just being paranoid.

00

It was around three in the morning that Kevin came into her bedroom and shook her awake.

“Huh?” She asked sleepily as she cracked open her eyes. “What is it?”

Kevin stood before her, dressed in his pajamas and bathrobe, a concerned expression on his face.

“Something’s wrong with Edward. He keeps coughing.”

Frowning, Peg got out of bed and followed her son back to the room that he and Edward shared. She flicked on the lights and saw Edward clench his eyes shut as she did so, as if the light hurt his eyes. Quickly, she turned them back off again and used the light coming from the hallway to find her way to the bed.

“Edward, are you okay?” She asked, taking a seat on the edge of the bed.

He slowly opened his eyes and despite the darkness she could tell that he was flushed. He had a pitiful expression on his face. He took a deep breath before coughing, which he tried to help by pushing his face into his pillow.

Peg touched his cheek and felt that he was warm, much more so than he had been just a few hours prior.

The coughing started again a second later, and it seemed like Edward was truly having a hard time catching his breath. Peg reached under his arms and lifted him so he was sitting, leaning him forward so his head rested against her shoulder with his arms at his side. She patted his back and he sucked in a breath of air. It was then that she noticed he was shaking, whether out of fear or because he felt cold, she wasn’t sure.

“Oh, Edward, it’s okay,” She told him, rubbing his back some more. “You’ll be alright. I think you’ve just got that flu that’s been going around lately. Kim had it a few weeks ago and now you’ve got it too.”

“Hurts…” Edward replied.

It was then that Peg realized that Edward had probably never been sick before, so it was likely somewhat scary to him.

“I know. But we’ll get you some medicine and you’ll start to feel better soon.” She reassured him. 

For now, though, it seemed a good idea to get him out of the room so that Kevin could sleep. She wrapped a blanket around Edward’s shoulders and led him down to the basement.

00

It seemed like no matter how many blankets Peg gave Edward, he was still freezing. He laid there, covered in three thick comforters, with his teeth still almost chattering. 

Peg looked him over, feeling bad that he seemed so uncomfortable.

“I’m going to get you some NyQuil. It’ll help you sleep,” She told him. “Be right back.”

Of course, he was still in the same spot when she returned. Edward continued to look at her sadly, his eyes wide and frightened.

“Here we go,” She said, holding a small plastic cup to his lips. “It doesn’t taste great but it’ll help.”

Edward drank it down, grimacing as he did so, but he made no comment.

“I know, it’s gross,” Peg whispered. “Why don’t we just lie down for a while - unless you prefer to be alone? You just looked so nervous…” she trailed off.

“Stay, please,” Edward answered. 

Peg smiled at him.

“Of course I will.”

She settled into the bed next to him and held him closely.

00

Peg woke a few hours later to the sound of Edward panting.

He was taking short, quick breaths and was still shaking. He had turned away from her.

Peg sat up to look him over. Just as she started to check him, he sat up. Before she could react he was retching, getting sick all over the bed.

Peg blinked, unsure of what to do or say. A few seconds later she pulled herself together enough to rest a hand on his back. The blankets were ruined anyway. Might as well try to comfort him until he was done.

Edward seemed more stunned and terrified than anything. He’d been sick before, but never so violently. The look of surprise on Peg’s face made it all the more frightening.

“S-sorry,” he mumbled, breathing heavily again. 

“It’s alright, we can wash everything,” She told him, continuing to rub his back. “It’s fine. No need to panic. Do you, um… Do you feel better now?” 

Thankfully he had missed her, but his pajamas were ruined. 

Edward sniffled loudly but didn’t respond. A tear ran down his face.

“It’s fine, really. We’ll just get you cleaned up, and get some medicine to help your stomach and you’ll be feeling better real soon,” Peg said, forcing herself to act confident so he wouldn’t be scared any further. 

She got out of bed and made her way around to the other side before carefully helping Edward to his feet, doing her best to avoid touching him anywhere that he’d hit.

She led him upstairs, stopping every few steps as he needed to catch his breath, and into the bathroom. Thankfully, no one else was awake so they had it to themselves.

“Let’s just get you out of this shirt,” Peg said, as she looked for a way to unbutton the pajama top. It took her a few minutes but she managed to do it. Getting his pants off was somewhat easier, and Peg found herself grateful that they’d managed to get him out of that black suit so long ago. Having to pull that thing apart would’ve been more difficult if he was sick.

Edward was left standing in his boxers, shaking once again. 

Peg sat him on top of the closed toilet seat and turned on the hot water in the bath, hoping to both clean him up and help him warm up a bit. While waiting, she took the opportunity to take his temperature. Edward obediently held the thermometer under his tongue until Peg removed it. She was happy to find that his fever wasn’t too high. 

She let Edward keep his boxers on as he got into the bath. He tended to be so shy, and she didn’t want to make things more difficult for him than they already were. Quietly she helped him bathe, running a rag over his back and arms and cleaning up his face, making sure she got rid of any traces of vomit around his lips. 

Peg let him sit in the warm water for a while after, as it seemed to relax him. She helped him out as it began to cool and wrapped him in a large fluffy towel. He’d stopped shivering, at least. That was a good sign.

She left him in the bathroom while she went to find the warmest, coziest set of pajamas that would fit him. Once again she helped him dress, going so far as to help him into a pair of Bill’s old socks to keep his feet warm.

00

Kim and Bill were awake by the time Edward was done bathing. One look at him told both of them how sick Edward was. 

“I feel bad for you,” Kim told him. “It gets worse before it gets better.”

Feeling Edward tense up, Peg frowned at her daughter.

“Now, let’s not go making Edward nervous. I’m sure he’ll be just fine, right Bill?” She gave Bill the look, which meant ‘You’d better agree with me’. 

Bill looked up from the coffee he was making.

“Huh? Oh, yeah, sure. He’ll be just fine. No worries there.”

His response seemed to calm Edward somewhat. 

“Maybe you’d like to go watch some television with Kim while I make you some tea?” Peg suggested. She glared at Kim, who got the message quickly.

“Yeah, we can watch Saturday morning cartoons if you want,” Kim offered. Edward really did look pathetic, and it wasn’t like she could catch the same flu twice.

The idea of spending time with Kim overrode any nervousness Edward felt.

“Yes, please.” He replied happily.

He followed Kim over to the couch. Knowing how awful Edward likely felt, she grabbed a throw pillow and placed it on her lap. 

“Lie down,” She instructed. 

Edward nodded and did his best to rest his head on her lap without stabbing himself or her in the process. Kim grabbed a blanket from the back of the couch and pulled it over him, watching as he snuggled up in it. 

She flipped the television on and found the channel she was looking for. 

Edward relaxed as he felt Kim start to run her fingers through his hair. Slowly, he closed his eyes, once again falling asleep.


	2. Tarrant Is Depressed

Carlie was worried about her brother.

It had been three days since they’d buried their father, and Tarrant had yet to say more than two words to anyone. In fact, if her conversations with Alice were to be believed, it seemed as if Tarrant had holed up in their bedroom and was refusing to come out.

He was also refusing to eat, bathe, or do much more than lie in bed and stare at the wall. Occasionally, Alice reported hearing him crying, but he would quiet if he so much as heard her nearby.

Alice had tried. Really, she had. She’d sat next to him and had held him, though he tended just to go limp when she tried. She’d made his favorite foods, including a cake that took four hours to make. She’d outright begged him to bathe, but he’d only glared at her for a moment before his eyes filled with tears. 

“You just don’t understand,” He had told her as he blinked away his tears. “It… it’s too hard. It’s all too hard. It’s too much, Alice.”

“But I do understand. My father died too,” She replied, taking his hand.

Tarrant said nothing else. He simply sniffled and curled on his side, facing away from her.

00

After six days, when Tarrant was seeming very much worse for the wear, Carlie had been officially called in. She tended to understand her brother’s needs better than anyone else, and Alice hoped that she might get through to him. He seemed very weak due to going so long without sustenance and if Carlie couldn’t help, Alice’s next step would be to go to Mirana.

Carlie arrived with a bag full of various items, including tea, which she immediately asked Alice to brew. As Alice started on that, Carlie made her way to the bedroom and knocked on the door.

“Little brother?” She called. “It’s me, Carlie. I’ve come to check on you.”

There was no response beyond a small, soft ‘go away’. 

Frowning, Carlie made her way inside.

00

Tarrant truly looked terrible. His hair was turning white and he had huge bags under his eyes, along with extremely pale skin. He looked near death, as if his grief was literally killing him. He’d clearly lost weight, as his cheekbones stuck out much further than usual, and he smelled fairly rank due to the lack of bathing. She noticed a large glass of water that was mostly empty, so at least he was staying hydrated. One small miracle, she thought to herself.

Carlie set her bag on the bed and sat on the edge of it, next to Tarrant, so she could see his face.

She said nothing as she placed a hand on his side and began to rub his back, the way she used to do when they were children and he came to her, scared after a nightmare. Almost instinctively, he began to relax with a sigh.

“It’s alright, Tarrant. I’m here.”

He looked up at her, his eyes a dark green color that only occurred when he was in great pain.

“I miss him, Carlie,” He whispered, a tear rolling down his cheek. “It hurts…”

Carlie pouted sympathetically.

“I miss him too. I know it hurts, because it hurts me too.” She continued rubbing his back for a while before speaking again.

“I bought some things that you might be interested in,” She reached for her bag. “I know you’re tired and hurting, but I thought you’d be intrigued.”

He stared at her, waiting for her to continue.

“I found this in dad’s papers,” She said, pulling a large leather portfolio out of the bag, opened it, and held it up for Tarrant to see it. It contained a drawing of him and his father, back when Tarrant was a young boy. Both were smiling. “I believe Mrs. Marlow drew it. Remember, she lived above the shop?”

Tarrant nodded. “Ah, yes. She used to stomp around so loudly that it always angered father. He always thought she must’ve been tap dancing. Remember when he confronted her with a broom?”

“And she opened the door wearing the most beautiful cloche and they instantly became friends?” Carlie continued.

“Yes!” Tarrant half smiled. “Always came for dinner and brought that… what was it? Boiled cabbage?”

“It was horrid but father always made us eat it. I won’t touch cabbage now, thanks to that.”

“It smelled so awful.” Tarrant agreed. “Stunk up the place for days. By the time it drifted out, it was time for her to come again. Those were the days, back when we were all young.”

“Then there’s this,” Carlie said as she showed him a small paperweight shaped like a boat.

“Heavens! Is that from- …it can’t be! From the Sea of Albin, when we took that family vacation?”

“Indeed it is!” She handed the item over to Tarrant, who sat up to examine it.

“Such an awful vacation,” He recalled as he turned it over in his hands. “First father rented that boat from that man - I can’t recall his name, but he only had one tooth. Caelan told him not to, but he insisted that it was a fine vessel, and of course, we became stranded…”

“And you were terrified. You cried for hours,” Carlie said, smirking. “We all felt so bad for you.”

“Well there was that storm, and it was so loud!” Tarrant shivered. “I still hate open water. Father was so upset about the whole thing, didn’t he take down the flag from the ship and toss it overboard?”

“And the man charged him for it! I remember his face seeing that bill. Pure rage, really. It was hilarious. Hilariously awful, but still funny.”

“Yes, he’d get so animated when he was angry,” Tarrant agreed. “It was hard not to laugh.”

“Like someone else I know,” Carlie nudged him.

“What? Me?” Tarrant half joked. 

His eyes turned slightly lighter, and his hair turned slightly redder, both of which Carlie took as good signs.

“Yes, you.” She smiled. “You’re a lot like him in some ways.”

“I suppose,” He sighed. “I… I made my peace with him before he passed. I’m glad for that, but I thought we’d have more time. I’d hoped he might be around for a while, and if Alice and I were lucky enough to have children, perhaps he could meet them.”

Carlie nodded in understanding.

“It would have been nice,” She agreed. “He would have loved them, I’m sure. But you know that part of him always lives on, so long as we remember him.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Tarrant said. “Like that time father got stung by that bee, and he got pink spots all over his face!”

“Ah, yes. Didn’t want to face customers for a week,” Carlie recalled. “I remember that well, he was so-”

She was cut off by the sound of Tarrant’s stomach growling.

“Sorry…” He murmured. “I’ve not eaten in a while.”

“It’s good I brought this, then!” Carlie answered, pulling out a small box. “A slice of that pie you always liked.”

Tarrant’s eyes lit up. 

“Luloberry pie?”

“Mm-hmm! And I had Alice put on the daffodil tea. I thought I noticed a nice cake out there, too.”

“Yes, that. Alice made it for me, but I hadn’t wanted any at the time.”

Carlie handed over the box, which also held a fork. 

“Enjoy this, and I’ll get you some tea and cake as well.”

Tarrant took the pie and quickly took a bite, closing his eyes as he did so. At that point, his hair returned to its full color, and his skin started to look better too.

“Thank you, Carlie,” he said before taking another bite. “You’ve saved me, I think.”

“Anytime, little brother.” Carlie replied.


	3. Sweeney has an asthma attack

That morning, Sweeney woke up as he typically did. The first moments of his day were spent in a calm haze, wherein he sometimes forgot the reason for his return to London, and the rage that he felt. Rather, he remained in an almost dreamlike state, feeling as if nothing was bothering him. 

…Until it all came rushing back, hitting him full-force and filling him with the anger and misery he was so accustomed to. 

On this particular morning, the thought of his beloved did indeed come rushing back, but alongside it came the realization that it was really cold. Colder than usual. In fact, Sweeney could see his breath in the air as he exhaled. How on earth had he slept through that?

He supposed it didn’t matter. He’d simply light the stove and wear his jacket until the room heated up, and go on with his day.

00

Of course, the stove didn’t work.

Sweeney spent a considerable amount of time trying to take it apart, examine the inside of it, and get the damn thing to light, only to be met with failure with each attempt.

The sun was rising higher in the sky by the time he gave up. Scowling, he wrapped his jacket tighter around himself. Perhaps Mrs. Lovett would allow him to sleep downstairs that evening, where it was warmer, but for the moment, he had customers to attend to. He would just have to cope.

00

The first two men who entered were nobodies; Sweeney had no interest in them beyond their money. He got them shaved and out of his shop as quickly as possible. Both of them, satisfied with his service, had left decent tips as well.

He heard the door open once more and looked up to see Anthony entering. He held a tray in his hands, on which a mug and a plate were sitting.

“Morning, Mr. Todd!” The younger man greeted him. “I stopped by to see Mrs. Lovett, and she asked me to bring you your tea. There’s a pie there, too.”

Sweeney made a face as he looked the pie over. Knowing what was probably in it, he avoided it, picking up the mug of tea instead. He sighed as he drank it. The warmth of the tea felt good going down.

“Mind if I hang around a bit?” Anthony asked, in between sips of his own tea.

Sweeney shrugged.

“It’s terrible cold, but you’re welcome to stay.”

Anthony nodded. The cold didn’t bother him all that much. The fact that he was dressed in several layers helped keep the worst of it at bay.

He sat down on top of the trunk. Within moments, another customer arrived.

Anthony watched as Sweeney prepared his razors and skillfully shaved the man, leaving his customer happy and impressed. As the man left, a strong wind swung the door open and blasted into the room. It caught Sweeney off guard. The icy cold hit him like a brick wall and he began to cough.

At first, he didn’t panic. The cold air sometimes did that to him and caused his lungs to seize up. The pollution of London didn’t help things much either. But when the coughing didn’t subside and it grew harder and harder to draw in any air, he began to worry.

“An… Anth-” He started, but was overtaken by a stronger fit. It caused him to double over, crashing into his chair and scattering his instruments to the floor.

“Oh lord,” Anthony mumbled, getting to his feet. He tried to help Sweeney up, but the man was curled in a ball on the floor, coughing heavily, tears forming in his eyes.

“I’m getting Mrs. Lovett, I’ll be right back!” Anthony said before he ran from the room.

00

Mrs. Lovett made her way upstairs as quickly as possible, skipping steps as she went to get to her tenant as soon as she could. She ran in to find Sweeney nearly crying as he continued to cough. His face was pale and his lips were starting to turn blue.

“Mr. Todd, dear,” She turned him over so that he was lying half in her lap. “You’ve got to calm down!”

She noticed his whole body was shaking. He was either absolutely terrified or dying. The fact that he was still conscious told her that he was getting at least some air, so she went with terrified.

“I’ve got you now. You’ll be alright, come on,” She urged, trying to get him to sit up. He refused to move, and she noticed that he was now gripping her dress as if his life depended on it.

Frowning, she began rubbing his side and back, doing anything she possibly could to help him calm down. The panic was making him breathe harder, while making him light headed, which just made everything that much worse.

It was of no use. A few seconds later, he stopped shaking and his grip softened. He closed his eyes and fell into unconsciousness.

00

The next time Sweeney woke, he was somewhere warm and soft. He tried to push himself up, but someone pushed him back. His head hit a pillow and he opened his eyes a little wider.

Mrs. Lovett sat at his side, leaning over him.

“Stay in bed, love.” She told him, as she pulled a blanket over him once again. “You had one of your attacks and you fainted. The lad and I brought you down here to my rooms where it’s warmer.”

Hearing this, Sweeney groaned. He began to take inventory of himself and realized that much of his body hurt. It was as if he pulled several muscles all at once.

“Hurts…” He mumbled, giving Mrs. Lovett a very sad expression.

Mrs. Lovett sighed. 

“Oi, stop with the puppy dog eyes. I expect you’re in a bit of pain. You were thrashin’ about quite a bit, and you fell and hit your side and arm. Nothing’s broken but you’ll be bruised awhile. Now, you go back to sleep. The stove upstairs will be fixed by tomorrow but you’ll stay here tonight. Your friend’s here, by the way.”

Sweeney glanced over and noticed Anthony sitting in a chair nearby.

“Glad you’re back with us,” Anthony said, smiling. “You scared the hell out of me.”

“Scared the hell out of myself,” Sweeney admitted. He groaned and snuggled more deeply under the blankets. They smelled like Nellie, like roses and tea. He found the scent to be surprisingly comforting.

Just before he drifted off to sleep, a thought popped into his mind. 

“You’ll tell no one of this,” He said, glaring at the younger man.

“Of course not,” Anthony agreed. “It’s our secret.”

Sweeney nodded and closed his eyes again. He sighed as another thought occurred to him.

“And… you’ll stay, right?” He asked softly.

Anthony smiled again and patted Sweeney’s arm.

“I’ll stay. I promise.”


	4. Jack gets hypothermia

Marty hadn’t meant to bump into Jack. He’d been minding his own business until Ragetti, who was very drunk, had accidentally pushed into him when the ship rocked. Marty, in turn, had fallen towards Jack, who wound up falling overboard.

Will, who had been busy talking to Elizabeth, heard the short scream and the splash that followed. He ran to the side of the ship and looked down, only to see Jack struggling to stay afloat. 

The water was very cold - they were far from their usual stomping grounds in the Caribbean - and Will knew that Jack wouldn’t survive long in such frigid temperatures. Worse, while Jack was a strong swimmer, he was quite small, and the waves were very strong. He could easily be killed by an ill-placed rock formation below the water’s surface.

“I’m going in. Get a rope ready!” Will instructed the crew, who were now nervously watching the scene. There would certainly be hell to pay once Jack returned to his command.

Will dove in gracefully, landing not far from Jack. He swam over and wrapped an arm around Jack’s chest, pulling him close to him while he waited for a rope to be lowered down.

Thankfully, the crew acted fast, and within seconds, a rope with a large loop tied at the end was lowered into the water. Will reached for it and secured it around Jack’s waist, and the captain was quickly pulled up. He continued to tread water until the rope was sent back for him and he was saved as well.

00

Though both had faced similar conditions in the ocean, Will was larger, younger, and stronger than Jack, and therefore recovered very quickly. Jack, on the other hand, was freezing. He shivered from the second he was pulled back on board, wrapping his arms around himself as his teeth chattered. Elizabeth provided blankets to both of them, but when Jack still seemed cold despite two layers, she decided to take further action and led both men into the quarters that she and Will shared.

“We need to get you both into some warmer clothes.” She said as she opened the chest where she and Will kept their few clothing items. She tossed a clean set of clothes to her husband before turning her attention to Jack. He’d gone pale, which was somewhat alarming considering how tan he normally was, and it looked like his energy was quickly draining.

“Here.” She held up one of Will’s old shirts. “Jack, you can change into this.”

When Jack made no move to do anything, Elizabeth frowned.

“I think he may need some help.” Will told her. 

Elizabeth nodded.

“Can I help you get dressed, Jack?” She asked. 

The pirate simply looked up at her sleepily and nodded ‘yes’. He felt far too weak to do it himself.

“Alright. Will, you go change over there,” She motioned behind a curtain that divided the area. “I’ll help Jack here.”

00

Jack shivered harder as Elizabeth removed the blankets from around his shoulders, and he barely noticed as she removed his shirt and breeches. In any other situation, he would have been very excited by all this, but it was taking all he had to even stay awake. He felt completely drained, and standing was difficult. Elizabeth sensed this and let him lean against her for a moment as she readied Will’s shirt for him. He rested his head on her chest and closed his eyes.

“The one time I let you do this, you’re too exhausted to enjoy it.” She joked.

Jack didn’t respond, so Elizabeth focused on her task of getting him fully dressed in warmer clothes.

00

Will returned a few moments later, just as Elizabeth finished with Jack and was helping him sit on the bed. He looked a little better already, and was standing more steadily by that point, but he still looked exhausted.

“How’re you feeling?” Will asked as he sat down next to him.

“Cold.” Jack murmured, giving Will the saddest look that he thought he’d ever seen.

“Aw, well, you’ll warm up soon and-” Will was cut off by Jack, who had scooted over and crawled into his lap. The pirate put his arms around Will and rested his head on his shoulder.

“Jack, what are you doing?” Will asked. 

Jack simply cuddled closer.

“Shut up. You’re warm.” Jack replied.

Will sighed. “Jack, come on-”

“Aw, enjoy the moment,” Elizabeth said, cutting Will off once again. “It’s adorable. It’s like getting a cuddle from the cat that hates everyone. It’ll never happen again.”

Will sighed and rolled his eyes, but acknowledged Elizabeth’s point.

“Yeah, fine. Alright.” He wrapped his arms around Jack and rubbed his arm, trying to warm him up a little more.

Elizabeth placed a thick blanket over Jack and within seconds, he closed his eyes. It wasn’t long before his breathing fully leveled out as he fell asleep.

“Guess I’m stuck here.” Will said softly. He couldn’t rightly push Jack away now that he’d fallen asleep.

“Give him a few minutes, then we’ll see if we can move him.” Elizabeth replied.

After a few more minutes, when it was clear that Jack was in a dead sleep, Will figured that it was a good time to move him to a position that would be more comfortable for them both. With Elizabeth’s help, he carefully rearranged Jack in his arms, stood up, and carried him over to a chair a few feet away. He sat down in the chair, settled Jack in his lap, and sat with him until eventually dozing off.

00

Several hours later, Jack woke up in Will and Elizabeth’s bed, feeling much stronger and well-rested. He’d found himself layered with three blankets and still wearing Will’s shirt, which came down past his knees, since Will was so much taller than he was. At some point, on top of that, one of them must’ve put thick wool socks on his feet.

The scent of something delicious hit Jack’s nose seconds later. He couldn’t quite place what it was. His stomach growled and he realized that he hadn’t eaten all day. He wrapped one of his blankets around his shoulders and followed the smell to the kitchen area, where he found Will and Elizabeth.

“Back from the dead, then?” Will joked. 

“Sleep well?” Elizabeth asked.

“Yes. Your bed is very comfortable.” Jack replied, pulling the blanket tighter around him. “What’s that smell?”

“We made soup,” Elizabeth told him. “Figured you could use a warm meal.”

Jack smiled.

“I knew ye cared about me,” He replied, taking a seat. Will passed him a bowl and Elizabeth filled it for him.

“Yeah, yeah, just don’t tell anyone. Don’t want word getting out that we’re going soft.” Will said with a smirk.

Jack took a sip of the soup and sighed.

“Yeah, yeah. My lips are sealed. Now, have we got any rum?”


	5. Mort has a migraine

Mort felt a little fuzzy when he woke up that morning, but it wasn’t too bad. A vague feeling like he was half asleep lingered over him until a few hours later, when pain started.

It wasn’t much at first. Just a small feeling of throbbing behind his eyes, and on the sides of his head. His mother Heather made him eggs and toast for breakfast, and he took an aspirin and moved on, wanting to focus on getting some writing done. He was behind as it was, and his deadline was fast approaching. 

He did his best to work, trying to block everything else out, but the pain just grew more intense the longer he looked at his computer screen. By mid-morning, it was getting legitimately painful to continue, and he wasn’t getting much done anyway, so he decided to take a break. 

Mort made his way to his bedroom and laid down, hoping that resting his eyes might do him some good.

00

By noon, the pain was much worse. Any type of light intensified it. A slight feeling of nausea was starting to come about, too.

Mort groaned and clenched his eyes shut against the sunlight coming in through his bedroom window.

It didn’t help much. He needed more medicine. Sighing, he forced himself up and out of the room.

00

“Are you okay?” Heather asked as Mort shuffled past her. She was busy making lunch in the kitchen and had noticed that he looked worse for the wear.

“Head hurts. Bad.” Mort mumbled as he got himself a glass of water. “Need pills.”

She noticed that he had two aspirin in his hand, which he placed on his tongue and swallowed.

“Oh no. Do you feel sick? You look pretty pale.”

“Actively trying not to puke,” Mort answered. It made him feel more nauseous to talk. 

Heather frowned.

“I used to get migraines like that when I was younger. I bet you’ve got them too. Wish I had some of my old meds to give you. In the meantime, let’s get you lying back down.” She led him back to his room and tucked him in before closing the blinds. Considering how badly the migraine seemed to be impacting her son, she decided it was best to stay nearby.

00

Things took a sharp turn for the worse within the hour. The migraine had reached peak intensity, and Mort was literally crying from the pain of it.

“Mom, it hurts,” he whimpered as he shoved his face into his pillow, desperately trying anything to make it stop. “It hurts so bad… Like being curb-stomped by an angry skinhead!”

Heather sighed. “I know it hurts, baby. I’ll get you an ice pack, maybe that’ll help.”

“No!” He called after her. “Don’t go. Don’t wanna be alone.” If he was going to die - and he really felt like he might, given the intensity of the pain - he wanted his mom there with him.

“Oh, honey.” She whispered, sitting back down on the edge of the bed. She ran a hand through his hair, trying to comfort him. “I know it hurts. I wish I could take it away. It’ll stop soon enough.”

Mort let out a loud sob. He’d never felt anything like this before. It was a ten out of ten on the pain scale, easily.

And then, as if things couldn’t get any worse, the nausea returned full force. 

“Oh god,” He gasped, sitting up. “Sick…”

Heather reacted quickly, helping Mort out of bed and leading him to the bathroom, where he promptly fell to his knees and began to vomit up everything he’d eaten that day, and possibly the previous day. The heaving and burning of it just made his head pound harder. 

As the vomiting began to taper off, he felt something on his back. Heather was rubbing him, and was holding back his hair.

“You’re alright,” She said softly. “It’ll be okay. Just get it all out.”

Hearing this made Mort cry once again. He was still hurting. He just wanted it to stop. 

“Mom, make it stop,” He begged as he laid his head down on the toilet seat. “Hurts so bad…”

“Are you done being sick?” Heather asked.

“I think so…” Mort wrapped an arm around his stomach. 

“Alright. I’ll help you up.”

Despite being smaller than her son, Heather was fairly strong and managed to help pull Mort to his feet. She allowed him to lean on her while she moved to flush the toilet, then supported him as they walked. 

It took some effort to get Mort back into bed. He was basically dead weight, and was still upset. As she pulled the blankets up over him she sat and took his hand.

“Mort, getting upset is not going to help it. It’s just going to make things worse. When I first started getting the migraines, I used to do deep breathing to calm myself until it passed. Want to try it together? It might help.”

Mort sniffled. He supposed anything was worth a try.

“Okay,” he replied, sniffling again.

“Okay.” Heather held his hand a little tighter. “Let’s take a deep breath and count to seven.” She counted as Mort inhaled, then spoke again. “Hold it for 5… and exhale for seven.”

Mort followed along, doing his best to focus on his breathing. It did help a little bit, and the extra air seemed to be making his migraine marginally less awful. 

It was a few minutes before Mort began to feel less upset. He could feel his mom still sitting there, still holding his hand. He sighed as he felt her touch her other hand to his forehead and run her fingers through his hair. 

“You’re okay, Mort. Keep breathing like that. Eventually you’ll fall asleep, and you’ll feel better when you wake up.”

“You won’t go?” He asked.

“I’ll stay right here.” Heather promised.


	6. Ichabod Gets The Stomach Flu

It was the winter of 1799, and there had been an influx of illness in the neighborhood. Ichabod, Katrina, and Masbath had heard their neighbors being violently ill and had seen the doctors scurrying in and out for house calls to other apartments in the building for weeks, and they knew it was only a matter of time before the illness hit their household.

It wasn’t too uncommon of a bug, but if one had a weak constitution, they might suffer, and Masbath and Katrina secretly worried about what might happen if Ichabod was to catch it. Ever since he’d returned, he’d been working nonstop, often staying up late into the evening to ensure he caught criminals, and while he rested on weekends, the long days were starting to take their toll. He seemed to be thinner than he’d been just a few months earlier, and was often tired. 

So, when Katrina woke to the sound of Ichabod retching into a chamberpot in the corner of the room, she was glad that she’d stockpiled all the ingredients that she’d need to ride this out.

00

Ichabod had only been sick once, but he was already looking bad. Paler than normal, sweaty, and weak, it had taken both Masbath and Katrina to help him back into bed. Ichabod said that he felt dizzy, like the room was spinning, and it just made him feel all the more sick. Ultimately, Masbath had fetched a bucket to keep beside the bed, while Katrina began her work in the kitchen.

Throughout the morning, she heard Ichabod moaning, groaning, and vomiting, while Masbath did his best to comfort him. Katrina checked in whenever she could, and found her husband looking worse each time. 

Knowing that her curative would take a few hours to finish cooking, she brewed him some tea with ginger and bay willow, then made her way back to the bedroom, where he’d just finished being sick. Ichabod was pale as a sheet, resting against a pillow and panting, clearly in a lot of pain. Masbath had a cold rag that he’d been patting Ichabod’s face with, but it didn’t seem to be helping much. The bedding was soaked with sweat.

“Katrina…” He rasped, cracking his eyes open. 

“My poor love,” She said, pouting sympathetically. She came to his side and took his hand. He weakly grasped her fingers.

“I’ve made you some tea,” She explained. “It will help some of your symptoms for a bit until the potion is finished.”

Ichabod glanced at the mug she was holding and shook his head weakly.

“No, please.” He couldn’t take the idea of adding anything into his stomach. Just the thought of it made him feel sicker.

“You need it, though. You’re dehydrated enough as it is, and I don’t want you losing any more fluids. I added some honey to this, so it won’t taste too bad. I promise it’ll settle your stomach a bit.”

Ichabod made a sad groaning sound and looked at her pathetically, trying to get out of it, fearing that the tea would somehow make him worse. He reminded Katrina of a small child that didn’t want to take their medicine, and she found it both frustrating and adorable. 

“Come on. Open up,” She said, cupping his face with her hand. Ichabod did as he was told with a cringe, as if he expected the tea to be truly awful. But Katrina had been right. It wasn’t so bad, and it made him realize how thirsty he was. He began to take larger sips until Katrina stopped him.

“Slowly, or you’ll throw up again. Come on. Little sips.”

Ichabod complied and slowly finished the tea, feeling slightly better when he was done. 

Katrina sat next to him for a bit, running her fingers through his damp hair, trying to keep him calm. He seemed nervous, shaky, like he was worried about something, but her touch soothed him slightly.

“There,” She whispered as he closed his eyes. “Just rest. I’ll be back soon.”

She watched as Masbath pulled a second blanket over Ichabod, and the constable finally drifted off to sleep.

00

In the kitchen, Katrina returned to her potion and checked it over, making sure everything was blending together correctly. She looked up when she heard footsteps in the doorway.

“Masbath,” She greeted the boy. “Come to help, or are you hungry?”

Masbath shook his head and walked closer, sitting down near her. He looked at the pot she was boiling and sighed.

“What’s wrong?” Katrina asked. “Are you feeling sick as well?”

Masbath frowned.

“I’m quite well, but I’m worried…” He trailed off.

“About Ichabod?” Katrina replied, turning to face him. 

“He’s not so strong,” Masbath said. “Physically, I mean. What if this is the end of him?”

The boy looked like he was about to cry and Katrina stepped up to hug him. In the months that they’d all been living together, she’d come to view Masbath as a son, and he’d started viewing Katrina and Ichabod as adoptive parents. Of course he was worried - he didn’t want to lose his new father!

“Ichabod won’t die from this. The tea I made helped him, and the potion I’m making now will help even more. In a few days, he’ll be good as new.”

There was no response, other than a small sniffle as Masbath did his best not to cry. Katrina held him a bit tighter before releasing him and bending so she was at his eye level.

“Now, now. You must trust me. I know him very well, and I know what potions to brew for healing. Have faith in me, and in him. He will get through this, you’ll see.”

Masbath sniffled again and nodded. Hearing Katrina’s reassurances made him feel slightly better.

00

A few hours later, Ichabod woke and was sick again, but this time dry heaving and not bringing anything up. Katrina was at his side, rubbing his back and holding his hair back as he held a bucket to his chest. It took a while for the muscle spasms to pass, and when they did, he felt incredibly sore. He laid back, cringing at the pain he felt. 

By then, Katrina’s potion was finished, and she had poured it into a small glass for Ichabod. She stroked his hair for a few minutes before holding the glass up.

“This will help stop the vomiting and keep your fever down,” She told him. “It does’t taste great, but it will help.”

Ichabod nodded, and pushed himself up, grunting as doing so hurt his stomach again. He rested a hand on it, wishing the pain would stop.

Katrina placed her hand on his back to assist him and held the glass to his lips, urging him to take it slowly. The brew had a fever reducer, an anti-emetic and a muscle relaxant, and hopefully it would work quickly.

He was breathing heavily when he finished, tired and sore and scared. People had died from this before; who was to say he wouldn’t? But then, he had Katrina, and she knew so much about healing and spells. 

“There. You’ll feel the effects soon. For now, let’s get you more comfortable. Masbath brought some new sleepwear and blankets. Let me help you change.”

Slowly and carefully, Katrina removed Ichabod’s nightshirt, which was covered in sweat and small vomit stains. She tossed it to the floor and noticed that Ichabod was shivering. Gently, she helped him dress in a new shirt, one that was warmer and would insulate him better. Masbath placed a new blanket on top of him and a warm brick at his feet, making Ichabod sigh as he felt the heat. 

Katrina smiled and slid into bed next to him, leaning on her side. She blew onto her hand to warm it and reached beneath the covers to lay it on Ichabod’s stomach. He sighed again as she began to rub, slowly relaxing his tense muscles. As the potion took hold, he began to feel drowsy again, and with Katrina’s ministrations it was only a few minutes before he was asleep.

00

Two days later, Ichabod felt much better. He was almost entirely recovered, and just in time, as Katrina and Masbath had come down with the same illness that he’d had. Thankfully, Katrina had thought ahead, and had prepared enough tea and potions for everyone, but he was still running around, trying to comfort his wife and son. Yet he didn’t feel any annoyance. They’d done it for him, it was only fair that he return the favor. 


End file.
